Life is full of noise. So much so, that when we experience genuine silence we are often caught off guard. There is nothing like the perfect stillness up in the heights of the Bridger Wilderness in winter. No cell phones, no cars, nothing. And all the quiet is further cushioned by blankets of snow. A person can think there.
There is one who would like to prohibit thought. C. S. Lewis discusses this with great insight in The Screwtape Letters, which purports to be the correspondence between Screwtape, under-secretary to the devil, and his nephew, Wormwood, instructing him in the best ways to tempt the followers of the Enemy, God:
“My dear Wormwood: Music and silence–how I detest them both! How thankful we should be that ever since our Father entered Hell–though longer ago than humans, reckoning in light years, could express, no square inch of infernal space and no moment of infernal time has been surrendered to either of those abominable forces, but all has been occupied by Noise–Noise, the grand dynamism, the audible expression of all that is exultant, ruthless, and virile–Noise which alone defends us from silly qualms, despairing scruples, and impossible desires. We will make the whole universe a noise in the end. We have already made great strides in this direction as regards the Earth. The melodies and silences of Heaven will be shouted down in the end. But I admit we are not yet loud enough, or anything like it. Research is in progress.”
A love of silence is a valuable commodity to the believer. It is part of worship, silently waiting before the throne, thinking, considering, praising, wondering. Making room for great, heavenly thought requires pushing the noise and humdrum of the day aside.
Part of your Christian armor is silence. Make the deliberate effort to seek it sometime this weekend.